


Unplanned

by distorted_reality



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distorted_reality/pseuds/distorted_reality
Summary: Sharon had a rough day and decides to hide at a bar for a while. She is surprised when Fritz enters not much later, obviously running from demons of his own.
Relationships: Fritz Howard/Sharon Raydor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Unplanned

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot demanded to be written. I couldn't resist. :)

They are meeting in a bar, of all places. Sharon’s been here for about an hour, staring into her tepid water, and he, well, he shouldn’t be here at all.

He’s walking straight to the bar, but as if he feels her gaze on him, he turns slightly and their gazes meet. Instantly, he stops in his tracks, his eyebrows raised while he evaluates the situation.

In spite of the anger that is still gnawing at her, she smiles, raises a hand in greeting.

Fritz hesitates for a few more seconds, but then he walks over to her, stopping in front of her table. He isn’t smiling, and although he seems calm, she is sure she has never seen him so angry before.

“Want to sit?” she asks him, even though she is not sure she is up for company. Ironically, he looks as if he truly wants to say no, but then he nods.

“I’ll just get myself a drink,” he says, wincing as he’s saying it.

She wonders if he is going for an _actual_ drink or some sorry excuse for one as she has. He shouldn’t drink, and she hopes he won’t, but this is none of her business, so she keeps her mouth shut.

When he comes back from the bar, he’s carrying what she thinks is a simple coke, and putting it down on the table, he chooses the chair opposite of the booth she is occupying. Sharon smile again.

That’s what one got when playing by the rules of society. Be polite and gain unwelcome company, that while all you want to do is stew in your own misery. Fritz’s wife wouldn’t face such a predicament as she seldom bothers with being polite.

She discards the thought, it is useless. She and Brenda will never be anything alike.

“Odd choice for a drink,” he says, looking at her water, and than at her. His eyes are probing as if he is trying to figure out what got her here. Well, two could play this game.

“I found alcohol and anger don’t mix well,” she says lightly. “What about you?” Nobody ever officially told her that he is a sober alcoholic. She heard it through the grapevine, noticed he never touched alcohol.

“It’s not worth the relapse,” he simply says, taking a sip of his coke, putting it down gingerly as if he has to control every motion carefully or he will snap. She understand this way too well.

They are silent for so long, she begins to feel the need to move, to say something, even though she is used to silence.

Finally, he sighs barely audible over the music and the chatter in the background. “Want to talk about what got you here?” he asks, and his eyes when he looks at her are almost kind, interested.

She hesitates, thinks how to phrase it best, but then decides she doesn’t care about decorum tonight.

“Taylor’s acts like an... ass, and Rusty doesn’t want to believe that I don’t want to interfere but have his best interests at heart.”

She could make a long story out of it, doesn’t. Why should she? Fritz could neither change the one or the other, and no words will make a difference. Maybe it’s ridiculous. She’s dealt both with Taylor and with Rusty before. It’s just been a long week, a gruesome case that didn’t allow for much sleep. Things will be okay again in a day or two. There’s also the fight she had with Andy  Flynn , but this is something she truly doesn’t want to think about.

Fritz nods as if the sparse information she’s given him is enough to understand the situation. Maybe it is. When she has learned one thing about the man sitting opposite of her it’s that he’s good at reading situation and people. He isn’t loud as his wife but just as effective and that without leaving a trail of chaos behind  in his wake.

It’s not that she dislikes Brenda. She admires the other woman’s success, will easily admit that Brenda is cunning and the  unbeatable when it comes to  interrogations. It’s just that Brenda isn’t always seeing the bigger picture, doesn’t understand and to cares how she affects  the people in her environment.

She wonders what Fritz saw in Brenda that made him stick with her. She won’t judge him. She can’t. Her divorce with Jackson isn’t even final yet. Who is the true mess here?

“Taylor won’t change and Rusty, give him a day or two and he’ll calm down,” he finally says, his words soft, the smile on his face now genuine. “Believe me, the boy knows that he’s hit jackpot with you.”

She smiles at the unexpected compliment. Sometimes one only needed to hear the truth from somebody else to finally accept it  as true .

She raises her glass. “To asses and adolescents then.”

He raises his glass, too.

This all, it is  ludicrous and yet, it feels right. 

“So what got you here with the plan not to get not drunk?” she dares to ask.

His face falls, and she regrets speaking. Seems she knew how to put her foot in her mouth,  after all.

“Just didn’t feel like going home yet,” he answers. He looks down at his hand where his wedding band rests, and Sharon is sure he isn’t aware of doing it. 

She would listen if he felt like talking, but she doubts he does. Pondering if to stay or to excuse herself, Sharon admits she doesn’t feel like an empty apartment yet, and if it’s not empty it would only feels clouded with Rusty’s frustration with the world and himself.

She looks at Fritz until he looks up again, and when she smiles she hopes he understands  s he is not trying to mock  him  but  simply wants to light en the mood.

“So if you could be any place you chose right now, where would that be?” she asks.

He raises an eyebrow for a second, but then his face relaxes, and he cradles his glass with both hands while he thinks  about her question .

“Appalachian Trail.”

It’s no t what Sharon would have expected not that she  would have had any idea what he might say.

“Interesting. Why, if I may ask?”

For almost two hours they talk about everything and nothing. She learns that he likes to hike, that he wanted to become a park ranger when he was younger, and that he had  the  dreamed of living with his family, at least three kids, in a cabin somewhere rural.

She tells him that she wanted to become a lawyer once, like Matlock, that she dreamed of being tough, making a career and a name for herself but that she will never regret having Emily and Ricky and settling for the LAPD and Internal Affairs.

It is nice to simply talk without any expectations being involved. This is not any kind of relationship. Relationships are difficult, this isn’t. She wonders if he has told all of this  he told her to Brenda, and if he has if she has even cared.

It is a text message that breaks the atmosphere. They are on their third  _drink_ and have just started discussing their favorite books. When his phone announces a message, they both share a surprised look as if they have been in a world of their own for the last hours.

“Sorry,” he says before he reaches for his phone, looking at it for a long moment. While he has been relaxed before, she can see the tension coming back to his body, and he bites down his bottom lip for a moment, frowns. Looking up again, he shoves the phone back into his pant’s pocket.

“It seems I need to leave.”

It could have been work, but she is sure it was Brenda that texted him.

“Of course.” Taking a look at her watch, she is surprised at how late it is. “I better get home, too. Taylor’s insisting on an early morning meeting to discuss our latest case.”

“Sounds like fun,” he says in a way, that has her chuckle. She doesn’t know of any person she likes or respects that likes Taylor in return.

Getting up at the same time,  Fritz asks where she has parked, and it turns out they have both chosen the same  parking  location.

“I’ll accompany you,” he says, not in a way that makes it seems he insists and thinks she’s not capable to make the short walk safely on her own.

Only when they leave, Sharon notices the after work crowed patronizing the bar  earlier is almost completely gone, replaced by mostly young people who don’t have to bother about a seven a.m. sharp meeting. It’s louder, too, and she hears loud laughter from somewhere behind here To be that carefree again. Not that she  even  wants to be that young again. She doesn’t fondly remember the times she tried to juggle a job and two young kids on her own.

The parking space where she has left her car is just around the corner. There is the long way all around the block or the shortcut through an almost completely black alley. It  surely  woul dn’t hurt the bar owners to install a light here, but she’s not afraid. She wouldn’t  make for  an easy victim, but what is about younger women, especially if they had a drink or two? She almost shakes her head at herself. She’s working crime for too long, it appears.

Like herself Fritz gives the alley a hard stare before he enters. Cops will be cops. They are not talking but the silence isn’t uncomfortable any longer. She reaches into her bag to grab her car keys, but they glide  right  out of her hand, landing on the dirty ground with a soft clank.

Before she can react, Fritz has taken a step forward, bending down to retrieve the key s for her. Straightening, he holds the key out to her, and she realizes how close they are standing now. Their gazes meet and from one second to the next the atmosphere is charged with something she doesn’t dare name.

Even in the dim light coming from a pale moon, she can see he is a surprised as she is.

No, this isn’t right. She looks down, takes the key from him. A shiver runs down her back when their fingers touch, and she hopes  to god that he hasn’t noticed.

Needing space, she takes an involuntary step back, only for her back to connect with the alley’s wall. Her eyes snap up to his, and he looks at her as if he is seeing her for the first time, really seeing her.

She wants to say something, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. A long moment passes. He takes a  hesitant step forward until they are way too close again. He, too, looks puzzled as if he knows he is doing something he shouldn’t but isn’t quite able to stop himself.

If she reached out now, just a little, she could touch him, and the urge makes her ball her fingers into fist, lest she can give in.  She can smell his cologne, spicy but not overwhelming. He smells… nice.

She watches him bite his bottom lip once again, and she all but can feel his indecision. This is crazy, she has never thought about him  _this_ way, but she is now, and her heart beats erratically in her rib cage.

He slowly leans in giving her all the time to move away if she wants to, and one of his arms braces against the wall. Her eyes wants to flutter close, but she forces them to remain open.

This is madness. He is married, and she has Andy, in a way, kinda. There is promise, at least, also  if she is honest, she is afraid of opening herself up to anybody.

He stops just shy of kissing her, and she feels his breath on her face. Her lips tingle in anticipation, and she only has to lean forward  a tiny bit to seal the gap.

She doesn’t, and neither does he, the seconds morphing into a minute, maybe two. He’s breathing heavily, as is she.  She wants this, crazy as it is, but she is afraid of going for it.

Laughter behind him, coming from the direction of the bar, has him straightening,  and he  take a step back, his eyes wide. Fate has decided. Maybe in their favor. Or not?

“I… we…,” he begins and trails of.

“We better get going, yes,” she says in a voice that is way stronger and upbeat than she feels.

There are steps behind them now, and they both make the way to their cars quickly. She reaches hers first, her legs a bit unsteady and her heart still not having calmed down. They don’t look at each other, or at least she’s not looking at him.

She opens the driver’s door, turns slightly at him, to bid her goodbye and the contriteness on his face has her sigh. 

“I’m sorry, Captain… Sharon.” He means it.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she says and means it, too.

Before he can say anything else, before this becomes more awkward or worse they’ll be tempted by fate again, she get s into her car, closes her door. He waves at her once, then turns,  begins to walk towards  his own car.

She lets out a breath she ha s n’t reali z ed she was holding. Whatever this was, it will make her night hell,  will have her curse,  berate herself, wonder.

Nothing has happened though,  she would do well to remember it. There is nothing to be guilty about. Not really anyway.

It was  that  simple, wasn’t it? She snort s , then force s herself to think of Rusty, wondering if he was back yet. At least there were other problems to keep her occupied.  She sighs

Making the trip to the bar, w anting to forget her problems, she  would have never thought she would end her day with almost kissing Fritz Howard. Life, it always had another curve ball in store.

Switching on her radio, she stops this train of thought. Nothing has happened. Nothing has changed. If she tells this to herself often enough she might even start to believe it.


End file.
